


Missed Messages

by Confuzledsheep



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Established Relationship, Kinda?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confuzledsheep/pseuds/Confuzledsheep
Summary: One missed call....Probably a scam of some kind- no one ever bothered to call him. Hell, not even Siete called him.





	Missed Messages

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little exercise I wanted to do... I wrote it very quickly, as almost a challenge? Anyway, just take it.

Blaring alarms and struggling sunlight yanked him from his sleep, dragging him away from peaceful dreams by the collar of his shirt. 

Blindly fumbling for the alarm, he tried to lull himself back to sleep- days off were a blessing he needed to take advantage of. 

Aggressive electronic screeching failed to cease, Six having to properly look up and locate the button on the clock. He cursed as something clattered to the ground- likely his phone. 

Silencing the tantrum of the device, he blindly groped around the carpet, trying to find the device that kept his reclusive ass from going absolutely insane. 

One missed call.

...Probably a scam of some kind- no one ever bothered to call him. Hell, not even  _ Siete  _ called him.

Shoving the phone in his sweatpants pocket, he shuffled out of bed, bracing his tragically bare feet against the freezing hardwood of the hall. 

Cold and trembling hands turned on the stove, a pan clattering onto the burner as he clumsily opened the fridge. He almost dropped an egg on the floor, managing to steady his grip for just long enough to prevent that from happening.

Butter sizzled in the nonstick as he snapped the shell in half, wincing as some eggshell stabbed into his fingertip. There were probably shards in the pan, but he was much too tired to remove them. 

Bread went into the toaster, a spare glance at the calendar. He had two more days off- then back to the night shift. He needed to check on his bank account- make sure there were no more payment issues. He wasn’t keen on being kicked to the street anytime soon.

His phone was oddly silent- and he couldn’t find it in himself to stop as he carelessly typed out a message.

_ Six: Morning _

The lack of an immediate answer was odd, but not something he should obsess over.

Siete had a life as well, as much as he may want to ignore that fact. Convincing himself that he was Siete’s entire world was foolish- a fantasy he couldn’t help but indulge in. 

Breaking the yolks, he swirled the solidifying sun into the pockmarked whites. Nearly burning his fingers against the metal of the toaster, he assembled breakfast. 

Tasteless, rubbery bites served no comfort, only sustenance. His ears were cold and hair oily. His muscles still ached from two evenings ago- but Siete was probably faring a lot worse. He better be, or Six would be a shame to boyfriends everywhere. 

Still, no reply as he scrolled through meaningless articles and absolutely incomprehensible bullshit- what on earth was Sarasa talking about? 

Plate discarded in the sink, fingers licked clean of every last drop of grease, Six strode down the hall to the bathroom.

The clouds had refused to lift, heavy grey blanket over the sky. Suffocating and comforting the people below. It was typical winter weather- it would be more concerning if it was sunny. 

Clothes discarded on the tiles, his ears twitched as a freezing droplet of water landed on his arm. Shivering, he tested the temperature again. Warm- thank god the hot water wasn’t empty. 

He shouldn’t be so comforted by the rain of water. He had other things to comfort him. Someone to comfort him.

Maybe it was just something humans naturally desired… Regardless of their other sources. He wasn’t a psychologist, he wouldn’t know. All he knew is that he needed one. 

The towel was getting stiff- he needed to run laundry at some point. Drying himself off,  he made it back to his room. He had nothing to do that day- maybe he could hold off errands until tomorrow.

His phone ran on the nightstand, a monotonous vibration rattling the wood. Picking it up, he answered before he could glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

_ “Six. Check your voicemail.” _

“...Why?”

_ “Just check it.” _

Song hung up before he could question any further. What the hell was that? How did she know?

Why did she want him to check it?

It couldn’t be urgent- again, probably a scam. Maybe a call from his mother, something more along the lines of garbled screams than any real words, grating on his ears like a saw.

Loose clothes and warm layers kept out the cold from the penny-pinching. Moving to the living room, his mind was a haze- he had a few more levels left of some game Quatre gave him- perhaps that would stave away the boredom.

He could also masturbate- but it would be stupid to tire himself out if Siete was going to come over later that night. 

Maybe he would bring cake, like he did last week. 

Did Siete even have the day off? Probably not, he had yet to reply. Maybe he broke his phone again. Maybe classes were being extremely bothersome.

There were a whole lot of maybes that day.

He couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing, hours passing as he moved his hands, hardly putting any kind of thought into what he was doing. He didn’t give a damn about the story.

Stiff muscles screamed as he sat up, pausing and moving towards the fridge.

Still no messages.

Halfway through dragging some mysterious Tupperware from the back of the fridge, the doorbell rang through the house.

Scrambling, Six covered his face with his shirt- Siete never rang the doorbell, he had a key, after all.

Trembling fingers wrestled with the knob, prying the door open a crack.

“Six. Open up.”

Despite the vast irony in that sentence, he did so, Looking into the darkening sky as he tried to avoid looking at Song’s face.

“Let me in. Check your voicemail.”

He wanted to question what was happening, but he was frankly much too intimidated to question it now, stepping aside and letting her enter.

Sitting at the kitchen table, she watched him, hawklike.

“Six. Check your messages.”

Ears almost flat against his skull, he nodded, pulling up a chair across from her.

Unlocking his phone, he found his heart trembling at the photo on his home screen- Siete had set it, after going on for hours about how the default screen was stupid. He didn’t know if he wanted to see Siete’s smiling face at that moment- lips so wide and smile so stupidly dazzling.

Entering his password, he entered the commands, an electronic voice interrogating him about his voicemail inbox.

Putting the speaker to his ear, he perked up when he recognized the voice.

Something was wrong- it was mumbling, he couldn’t make it out. There were background sounds- was Siete driving?

_ “Oh- shit-. Damn, sorry.” _

Who was he talking too? There was enough shuffling for Six to assume that he was picking up the phone, or something-

He held his breath as he heard Siete let out a shaky sigh. There was something catching in his throat, and immense sadness held back by a shaky web of lies and optimism. 

_ “Hey, uh. Six. I… well… I wanted to call and tell you that I- I love you. One last time.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to kudo, comment... anything you guys feel like!
> 
> You can get in contact me through my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en) If you would like also!


End file.
